


As Our Eyes Can See (We Can Travel So Far)

by WhipperSnapper



Series: Let the Wind Carry Us [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Best Friends, Bromance, Dragon's adore him, Dragons, Eventual Alpha Toothless, Flocks, Gen, Gobber Rocks, Growing Up, Hiccup overthinks some things, Queen Hiccup, Running Away, it's all good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhipperSnapper/pseuds/WhipperSnapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sheer luck that allows him to avoid Astrid.</p>
<p>For a moment, as Toothless crouches ready to fly, Hiccup almost want's someone to come stop him.</p>
<p>And then with a smooth lurch, Toothless was off and the brief thought was gone in the pressing rush of air before it could take hold. They are both in the sky, quickly clearing the tree-tops and tearing through the empty space above until they hit the cover of the clouds.</p>
<p>Vacation starts now.</p>
<p>An AU where Hiccup is a little more (and less) prepared, where Astrid is eluded and Dragons have a little bit of magic in them that only they know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Our Eyes Can See (We Can Travel So Far)

**Ch 1 Go Where No One Goes**

 

A How to Train your Dragon fanfic.

 

 

(-)

 

_This is Berk. It has Vikings. They're a hardy bunch with even harder heads and enough stubbornness in them that it's become a hereditary trait._

 

_For seven generations they've lived on Berk, fighting Dragons, killing them and mounting their heads on their walls. And for seven generations there have been Dragon Raids._

 

_My name is Hiccup. I...am not a Viking. I'm not very hardy, my head's about average and as for being stubborn it's about the only thing we have in common with Vikings._

 

_We being me and my best friend, Toothless._

 

_While some Villages have have their lonely outcasts running away into the wilderness to be eaten by Trolls, Berk is not one of them._

 

_I am an outcast and I am running away. But I am not alone and I am not about to be eaten._

 

_Because while some people make friends with sheep and Yak’s to stop being lonely; I don't._

 

_Because I? I befriended a Dragon._

 

_And we are going to leave this place behind._

 

_We are going to take a little vacation, forever._

 

(-)

 

As soon as Elder Gothi nodded, proclaiming him as the winner in the Dragon Training Academy, he decides then and there that he needs to leave. His father's disappointed face looms in his mind's eye, super-imposed over the vaguely proud yet disbelieving face he currently wears and he knows the real thing would hurt so much more. Every other time he had failed or screwed up Stoick was already expecting it. But now he has shown 'talent' in the ring and the inevitable let-down that would occur...it's too horrible to even think.

 

By the time he manages to escape the crowds, avoiding his father and his strident voice as he announces 'drinks and food for all at the great hall' to the joy of the village, a weight has formed in the pit of his stomach and it only grew as the implications set in. A feast then, in his honour.

 

The little plans he'd been concocting all week, all the day dreams of flying and roaming with Toothless wherever they please suddenly crystallise in his mind and that's it. It's different from just knowing they need to leave and then suddenly having a plan to work from...he's not sure what's so different about what he was thinking of before, only that now the thought fills him with an anxious calm instead of an iron ball.

 

(-)

 

He's already collected some of his own specialized tools from his little room back at Gobber's forge when he starts to fret again. He packs away all of his notes on Toothless as well as his saddle designs and all the other little odds and ends that related to Dragons. It was quickly wrapped in a large swathe of leather cloth and put at the bottom of the basket he used to transport fish to Toothless with.

 

He stored it there out of the way, between visits to Raven's Peak and the Cove, so no one would find it, with the basket already here he didn't have to risk going out and getting caught grabbing sacks and baskets.

 

'What else what else...'

 

He paces for a bit, half frantic and half sick with worry that he'll be found out. He can't rush though. They were leaving for good, they can't afford to fly off and then realize he'd left something vital in his haste to go.

 

Wax. He needed wax for the leathers. Toothless, as a dragon, was a very warm creature and if he didn't treat the leather correctly after a flight they ran the risk of it drying out and cracking on them mid-air after a dunk in the sea.

 

So he had tools, leather, leather treatments, his notes...he looked to his work desk spotting the container next to the candles, brushes, he could use those. After a seconds thought he grabs the candles too.

 

Stuffing them into the folds in the leather he hoists the basket up, edging his way into the forge proper, on the lookout for Gobber and stray villagers. Gods forbid he be seen by anyone at this point, all they'd have to do was look in the basket and it was all over. At the very least Mildew was probably still secluded up at his cabbage farm, far too mean and grumpy to join in the festivities yet.

 

All was clear. Almost franticly he breaks for the nearest gap between the houses.

 

(-)

 

Almost all the Village folk had made their way up to the Mead Hall at that point, preparing for the Victory celebrations later that night. His Victory. It left a sour taste in his mouth to think of going there and having everyone congratulate him and pat his back and grasp his shoulders like he's seen them do to Snotlout and Astrid at times.

 

Sometimes Gobber would do the same to him, clasp his shoulder or ruffle his hair with his large hand, sending strange tingles of sensation, of contentment and unease through his body. It was usually only to stop him from running off and escaping his lectures or to throw him back to the forge in the raids to stop him getting in the way so the contentment never lasted long, fleeing and leaving him feeling cold and empty.

 

Even with the new-found fame and respect, the thought of them doing that, villagers who had ignored him and jeered openly at how weak and un-Viking-like he was...those people who were practically strangers to him...touching him and congratulating him, telling him he was his father's son all right, gave us all a scare, thought you were going to be useless all your life, _we can't wait to see you pop that Nightmares head off tomorrow..._

 

He had to grip tight at the wooden beams at the side of the house, something to ground him for a moment as he felt like he was going to shake right out of his skin if he though about it too long.

 

(-)

 

The few remaining Vikings not in the hall were down at the docks, working on repairing the lone ship that had come back from the failed Nest expedition. He kept to the narrow paths between homes, shrouded in shadows cast by the afternoon sun. With the added bulk of the basket he has to take it slow. Thankfully he'd wrapped his tools carefully before packing them away so he didn't have to worry about them clanking together and giving away his position.

 

There was a quick stop at the Storehouse to top up on fish and some fruit, but with people going back and forth for the spices and chicken they were going to cook for that night he didn't dare linger, someone would notice the basket and wonder what he was up to.

 

Making his trip back to his home unnoticed was an exercise in patience and silence, the basket, now completely full, weighed him down even more and at times threw off his balance.

 

As it is he stumbles into his home panting and red faced from the effort. He takes some time to rest by the fire pit, to catch his breath, before he remembers the spy-glass and compass in his room. He heads up and collects them, along with his lone blanket, three candles, two tall and thick with the third more than a quarter spent, a sheath of parchment papers and his trusty carving knife. He'd originally dropped it into the lake when he met Toothless but he'd fished it back out again and kept it at home.

 

For good measure he grabs more of his charcoal nubs for his pencil and raids the chest at the foot of his bed finding a coil of rope and some spare ends, extra clothes and things that could be useful later.

 

There wasn't much rope left to the cuttings but he had his needle in his tool set so the fibres could be used for sewing repairs which meant he could save his leather working thread for more important things.

 

As it was the coil would be immensely handy for securing things to the saddle.

 

Laying it all out he retrieves the basket from downstairs after emptying the fish out, grabbing the leather wrapped tools and placing them in the centre of his blanket. He arranges his other items around it and then folds and rolls the blanket around them, securing it with the spare ropes. He brings everything downstairs and puts the fish away and fixes the lid in place with the fang toggle and then ties the blanket roll on top of it using the armholes to secure it.

 

All set to go, he drags it onto the dining table and quickly fills the water skin in the sink and attaches it to his belt. He grabs the waxed bag of porridge mix that's there and also the last hunk of their bread loaf and some jerky because he sees it. He knows they could just fish for food but the less time they spend fishing means they could travel farther faster. Giving his father very little chance of catching up to them. Plus this way their fish supplies should last longer.

 

Maybe.

 

He's trying hard not to think what his father would do if he's caught right now and instead focuses on where they were going to go. He wants to head South, but with winter coming he likes the idea of going North and stopping any of the boats sent out after him with the frozen sea. Not to mention out of all the other Viking tribes, Berk was the most Northern. Meaning the Bog Burglars and the Outcasts and the Berserker's were all South. North would be best, at least until after winter, then they could go from there.

 

He wasn't too afraid of the cold, he had Toothless with him and he'd fallen asleep at his side and then woken up in a sweat often enough to know that Toothless could run very hot at times, the black of his scales absorbing and storing the heat from the sunlight.

 

Jamming the loaf end into the porridge bag with the jerky he ties it to his belt, opposite the water skin, and then hoists the Basket off the table as he threads his arms through the handles and lifts it onto his back. He almost stumbles but the rest and the sudden rush of excitement coursing through him makes it bearable. He's on the final part of his plan. All he needs to do now is head to Toothless in the woods and leave with him. Everything would work out after that.

 

Determinedly marching one step in front of the other, he heads out into the forest.

 

(-)

 

It's sheer luck that allows him to avoid Astrid.

 

He catches sight of the glint of sunlight on her axe from a distance and he immediately drops down low behind some boulders to his right. She's cursing fit to turn the air blue and he catches his own name thrown in now and then and he realizes she was trying to follow him. She's being doing that now and then and he's usually able to give her the slip. Not today he realizes, with his heavy pack and sleeping roll he's too big a target to miss. He'd lead her right to Toothless and he knew how that would turn out. If she didn't try to kill him she'd run off back to the Village to alert the adults and they'd head straight out after him.

 

The weight on his back drags him down and he has no choice but to sit there for a while, slumped in place while Astrid curses herself out, slashing with her axe in a fit of rage. And while she appears both as beautiful and as terrifying as ever, he finds that he no longer feels quite so content inside as he looks at her. She's the enemy now.

 

He mourns inside a little, at the could-have-been's of a Berk with Vikings and Dragons together, not fighting each other to the death. It would never work. Looking at Astrid he sees the epitome of Viking. Something hard and unyielding and totally unwilling to listen to views that went against tradition.

 

It takes a little while but eventually Astrid tires of yelling her woes at the pitiful looking tree she was wailing on and packs up and heads back to the village, sending dirty looks at the surrounding growth as if Hiccup would pop out the moment she turned her back.

 

He waits another ten minutes after she leaves, just in case, before beginning the harsh task of getting up again and then stumbling his way along to the cove.

 

It doesn't take him long to re-secure Toothless' saddle and harness when he arrives, attaching his meagre supplies to the straps, ensuring the fish is well and truly secure and checking that everything wouldn't just go flying loose when they took off.

 

All the while Toothless croons, compliant with his wishes, some part of him knows how serious this is, knows that this is it, they're getting off this fearful island, away from the sad face his Boy would make every time he had to return to the ground and return to the human nests.

 

Muscle memory leads him through the checks and in no time he finds himself seated and hooked into the saddle, ready and waiting to go. It's almost easy, the  way the words form and leave his mouth, as he leans forwards, flexing and testing the motion of the pedals in prep for flight.

 

'Okay bud, let's get out of here.'

 

For a moment, as Toothless crouches ready to fly, Hiccup almost want's someone to come stop him. For his father to come running through the bush and take him home. Or even Astrid with her axe. For just one chance to prove to someone that Dragons weren't creatures to be hated and feared.

 

And then he remembered her cursing and her eagerness to spill Dragon-blood in the ring.

 

And then with a smooth lurch, Toothless was off and the brief thought was gone in the pressing rush of air before it could take hold. They are both in the sky, quickly clearing the tree-tops and tearing through the empty space above until they hit the cover of the clouds.

 

This is it. No turning back, no doubts. His father would sooner kill Toothless than listen to his only son. It's been that way ever since it became clear that Hiccup couldn't become the Dragon-killer he had wanted him to become. Every attempt ending in failure and disgrace and-it's too much it's always been too much.

 

The air helps. The sheer exhilaration he feels when flying overrides any grief hiding inside him. He takes one long look out at the horizon before leaning slightly to the left. Toothless responds and cants his wings as he adjusts the foot pedals and manipulates the fake tail fin to a smooth glide, evening out and riding the air currents.

 

And they really should just head straight out and not stop until nightfall but Hiccup wants just one last look at his home, one last good memory untainted by Dragon hunting and killing.

 

As it is their flight gives him an Dragon's eye view of the Training Ring, where the five captive Dragon's he has been working with the past few weeks were being held.

 

'I have to wonder, if I'm gone, what will happen to them?' With a sickening lurch he realises that Astrid, the one who was really the only one fit to be the victor of Dragon Training, would be the next in line to kill her first Dragon.

 

The Monstrous Nightmare was usually their newest Dragon. Not because he was the last to be caught but because he was the only one that needed to be replaced regularly. In the Killing ring it was always a Nightmare that was used to blood the new Vikings, always. And with him leaving, it would be up to Astrid. And she would not hesitate.

 

The thought barely has time to form before he has a plan.

 

'Toothless, I think we have just one last thing we need to do.'

 

And with that, he turns away from Berk, flying into the gloom to await the night.

 

Vacation starts now.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the head-canon I read that with the death of the Red Death, Hiccup becomes the new Queen of Berk's Dragon flock, similar to how Toothless becomes an Alpha later on. Combining this with the ever popular 'Hiccup leaves with Toothless before the Killing Arena incident/before Astrid finds out and they go on to have adventures' plotline, I thought it could be a pretty decent story. Shout out to the story 'Nightfall' by Leletha for the way that Dragon's communicated with each other. I loved it, it's such a perfect way for them to 'speak' to each other. Dunno if I can use it the way they have done though but I'd like to take a shot at it.
> 
> Welcome to Queen of the Flock. Aka: Hiccup, Queen of Dragons Aka: The Adventures and Mishaps of One-Legged Fishbone.
> 
> Doofus forgot to bring bandages.


End file.
